


Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

by karuvapatta



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin arrives at Arthur’s doorstep on Christmas Eve to grant a favour to his best friend and leaves with slightly more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thursday_Next](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/gifts).



> Huge, huge thanks to my beta, , who helped me get through this and to the endlessly patient mods of . The title is from the song by Jack Johnson. Happy Merlin Holidays, everybody!
> 
> Warnings: language, alcohol use.
> 
> The characters depicted herein belong to Shine and BBC. I make no profit from this endeavor.

Merlin was late.

It wasn’t exactly his fault that the bus broke down in the middle of nowhere, so why should he be punished by having to cover the last leg of the journey on foot, trudging through piles of snow. When he finally arrived at the Pendragon mansion he was tired, irritable and cold. The courtyard had been turned into an impromptu parking lot for the guests and the selection of assorted cars looked like a wet dream of a Top Gear fan. Merlin ran past them towards the front door. The golden light spilling from large ground floor windows was the promise of warmth, if nothing else.

He raised his hand, letting it hover over the doorbell, then changed his mind. Instead, he fished out the phone out of his pocket with numb fingers and clumsily chose the number, thankful for that one time over a year ago when Arthur had drunkenly decided that Merlin absolutely needed to have him on speed-dial.

After the fourth signal came and went, Merlin did some head-shaking and feet-stomping. His most elegant suit was cheap and bought on sale; thin fabric – not the best quality, either – offered little to no protection against the bitter cold. And since it took half an hour and lots of product to battle his hair into submission, he had decided to forgo the hat, which he came to regret rather a lot.

Arthur didn’t pick up, or call back. Merlin was on the verge of turning around and stomping off in righteous indignation, if only his freezing limbs could be persuaded to pull that off, when there was an audible click of a lock and the massive front doors were pushed open.

Immediately a rush of warm air hit him in the face. He blinked several times, noting a darker silhouette against the bright light before it started to focus into Arthur.

Arthur.

Who, unlike Merlin, had the self-confidence and composure to pull off not only a suit, but also a rather expensive-looking three piece, complete with gold cufflinks. His hair was perfectly styled and gleaming in the light. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, which Merlin had trouble identifying (was it the slightly-tipsy type or the I-just-talked-with-my-father-don’t-even-say-a-word-to-me- _Merlin_ kind of face?). He did smile a little (which made Merlin grin back like an idiot), before his expression faded into a frown.

‘Merlin,’ he hissed. Some voices could be heard in the background – above the underlying theme of laughter, music and the steady murmur of conversation – but Arthur moved forward, so that his form was obscuring the view. ‘What took you so long?’

‘Commuting,’ Merlin said flatly. ‘And Merry Christmas to you, too. Any chance you will let me in?’

‘Right.’

He moved sideways, creating some space for Merlin to squeeze through, which brought them dangerously close together. Arthur smelled of his favourite cologne, mixed with the aroma that was unmistakeably Christmas-y: gingerbread, pine needles, cloves. He grabbed Merlin’s elbow, squeezing it painfully, but before Merlin had a chance to protest – they were facing each other now, only inches apart – Arthur looked at him with the kind of intensity that made Merlin’s stomach flutter and the complaint died on his lips.

‘Listen, I have to ask you something,’ Arthur said in a low, urgent voice. ‘I know this is sudden, but—‘

‘Arthur!’

Mouthing a curse, Arthur pulled Merlin forward and plastered on his well-rehearsed business smile. His hand left Merlin’s elbow and then pressed against the small of Merlin’s back.

And stayed there.

Merlin opened and closed his mouth several times. Approaching them was Uther, looking even more regal than usual in coal-black three piece suit and a dark frown on his face. He was followed by an elderly man that Merlin did not recognize and a young woman that he—did.

Which was terrific, really. The urge to get the hell out of here – away from this fancy-looking reception in the brilliantly decorated, gigantic Pendragon mansion – was getting stronger by the second. He stood up straighter, but Arthur actually moved _closer_. They were pressed together right now, side-to-side, with Arthur’s hand splayed against Merlin’s back. It was amazing how much body heat he was generating while simply standing there.

‘Father,’ Arthur said, with only a faint trace of nervousness, ‘this is my boyfriend, Merlin.’

And—right.

Christmas miracle, Merlin thought wildly. Or else the hours spent in the lab had finally taken their toll and any connections with reality he might have had been cut off by a stray laser beam.

Uther’s face somehow managed to convey disbelief, disdain and contempt while still appearing fairly polite.

‘Boyfriend,’ he repeated after a pause.

‘That’s right!’ Arthur said with a smile too bright to be genuine. ‘Now if you’ll excuse us both for a minute, so that we can see to Merlin’s coat.’

‘Of course,’ Uther said. His eyes bespoke fire and destruction, but his tone of voice was carefully controlled. ‘Be quick though; you have some introductions to make.’

‘Can’t wait,’ Arthur said.

The pressure on Merlin’s back increased – Arthur was half-pulling, half-pushing him down the hallway, away from the lights and the people. Because there were indeed great many people, dressed in brightly coloured clothes, and more than half of them were not-so-discreetly watching the spectacle by the door. Merlin was suddenly aware that his ears were freezing just moments ago and must still be bright red and even more unflattering.

There was a cloakroom nearby but Arthur bypassed it without a word, leading Merlin upstairs, towards his own room. The first floor of the mansion was quiet and unlit, with no other living soul in sight, which prompted Arthur to drop his arm from Merlin’s back. Merlin spun around and took a step backwards, putting more distance between them.

‘What the hell was that?’ he asked quietly. The sudden lack of contact was a small blessing but it also made him feel oddly bereft.

‘Look, I’m really sorry,’ Arthur said. He was avoiding Merlin’s gaze and running his hand through his hair, leaving it messed up. ‘I had no time to explain—‘

‘You called me over two hours ago! You had plenty of time to explain,’ Merlin protested.

Arthur grimaced.

‘I wasn’t sure you would come if I did,’ he said.

‘Oh. Great. That’s just—great.’ Merlin walked away, suddenly aware that he was way too hot. It might have been because Arthur was being so close and touchy-feely; Merlin began unbuttoning his coat, hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice his hands shaking.

‘So what is it all about?’ he asked when he was sure he could trust his voice. He shoved the coat and scarf at Arthur, taking some wicked satisfaction from the fact that his outerwear was cold and damp and might even leave spots on Arthur’s immaculate suit.

‘Erm. There is – there was – this girl.’

‘Mithian.’

‘Yes.’

‘Wait, “was”? You broke up?’ Merlin asked. ‘Why?’

Arthur shrugged.

‘We just didn’t work out, I guess. Never mind. But my father had a lot to say about that. How I’m irresponsible and can’t hold on to a relationship to save my life,’ he snorted but then his face twisted into a scowl. ‘Maybe it was because she was the first person I dated that he didn’t actively hate.’

Merlin searched for something comforting to say but it was a futile effort. Uther really did seem to have a personal vendetta against the girls Arthur liked – and most of the people Arthur spent time with, actually. Merlin he simply tended to ignore.

‘That’s all very nice, but what does it have to do with me?’ he asked, mildly irritated. Already he could see how this all ended and he desperately wanted to be proven wrong.

‘I need to get him off my back,’ Arthur said.

‘By pretending you’re gay?’

‘Don’t be an arsehole, Merlin, I’ve dated guys before,’ Arthur said. 

‘Great. Why won’t you ask one of them?’ Merlin said—snapped. He was very glad Arthur couldn’t see the dark flush on his face.

‘You know me best,’ Arthur said simply. 

Which was true, but hearing Arthur admit it out loud – so casually, too – made something stir in the pit of Merlin’s stomach. He coughed to clear his throat. 

‘What’s in it for me?’ he asked.

Arthur snorted. 

‘The satisfaction of helping out a friend? My eternal gratitude – for a given amount of eternity, obviously?’

‘Talk specifics, Pendragon. I’m this close to leaving,’ Merlin said.

‘You little—fine. Can we have this conversation later though? My father will get suspicious.’

‘Or else he’s going to think we’re busy shagging,’ Merlin supplied with manic glee. To his satisfaction, Arthur actually spluttered. 

‘Merlin.’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t say that again.’

‘Come on. If we’re pretending to be together you have to get used to—‘

‘ _Merlin_. Don’t ever mention sex and my father in the same sentence again. _Ever_. I mean it.’

***

After some initial awkwardness they settled into a comfortable position, with Arthur’s arm wrapped around Merlin’s waist. It was not uncomfortable, Merlin admitted to himself – he had to lean towards Arthur for appearance’s sake, soaking in his body heat and the decidedly non-unpleasant smell of him. They even worked out a way to move smoothly like this and, after giving Merlin a moment to even his breathing, descended the stairs.

Every pair of eyes in the room turned towards them. Merlin gulped down and tried to smile, aware that not many people seemed pleased to see him and even less of them bothered to hide it.

‘Relax,’ Arthur breathed in his ear, causing Merlin to shiver. Well. That he didn’t have to fake, at least.

‘I’m trying,’ Merlin said back.

Now he could take a closer look at the party. It consisted mostly of Uther’s associates and co-workers, most of whom brought their families. They stood in little groups, enjoying champagne and drinks and those canapés with such a staggering amount of exotic fruit, sprouts, fifteen different types of cheeses and a couple of endangered species of fish piled up on top of pieces of bread that were so tiny that it was a wonder they hadn’t already given in to gravitational collapse. The Pendragon Mansion wasn’t a very cheerful place on the rare occasions that Merlin had been invited to visit it, but the crowds and the laughter were doing wonders for its gloomy, medieval design. Hovering above the guests’ heads was a massive chandelier, emitting enough light that the decorative ornamentations were clearly visible for the first time. Everything that could have been polished was gleaming; in the corner stood a giant Christmas tree, sporting a selection of Christmas glass balls in red and gold as well as its own string of lights, woven tightly over the lush green branches. And, for the first time perhaps, it was as if the people gathered here were having actual fun. 

Merlin might not have been too hyped about Christmas in general and his presence here in particular, but even he had to admit that the hosts had outdone themselves.

‘Nice,’ he said cryptically, indicating the room before him.

‘Morgana,’ Arthur replied, just as shortly.

‘Oh, they made up?’

Arthur laughed.

‘You could say that.’

His expression froze when he spotted Uther standing together with two other people. The man was engaged in a conversation with someone Merlin didn’t recognize, but had the oddest feeling that Arthur didn’t like overly much. 

‘Anything I need to know?’ he muttered when Arthur steered them in that direction.

‘I just disagree with his work ethics,’ Arthur explained.

‘Meaning?’

‘He doesn’t appear to have any,’ Arthur said, and then, louder, ‘Father!’

They joined the little group. The third person was Morgause, striking in a simple red dress with her wavy blonde hair pinned up in an elaborate hairdo. The man of questionable work ethics was quite handsome, Merlin noted.

‘Arthur.’

‘Cenred,’ Arthur took the offered hand in a deadly grip, smiling all the while. ‘What a pleasure. Morgause,’ he nodded towards her.

 _Hi, I’m Merlin_ , Merlin very nearly blurted out when four pair of eyes focused on him. He cleared his throat.

‘My name’s Merlin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Oh, but we know each other,’ Morgause said coolly. Merlin held her gaze, while they both remembered without fail that one party at Morgana and Morgause’s shared apartment when Merlin drunk too much and vomited on their immaculate bathroom floor.

‘It’s been too long,’ he said.

‘Indeed.’

‘So you’re together?’ Cenred asked, and—did he just give Merlin a once-over? Arthur seemed to think so, because he draped himself more tightly around Merlin.

‘Yes.’

‘And what do you do?’ Uther asked. 

‘Merlin studies physics, father,’ Arthur said through gritted teeth. ‘As I’ve told you before.’

‘You have? I didn’t remember,’ Uther said dismissively. ‘Physics? Do you have plans for after you graduate?’

‘I’ll try to find a job,’ Merlin said. ‘But I try not to worry about it too much.’

‘Young people nowadays are awfully laid-back, don’t you think?’ Uther said to Cenred.

Merlin could feel Arthur’s body stiffen. 

‘Yes, they never think about their future,’ Cenred said. He was undoubtedly enjoying the spectacle, judging by the smirk on his face.

‘Luckily Arthur is a responsible young man,’ Morgause said. She didn’t actually smile, but there was a glint of mirth in her eyes.

Merlin was getting a little fed up with all this.

‘Yes, Arthur is very responsible,’ he said, hoping he sounded more polite than he felt. ‘And, just between you and me, I’m really, _really_ glad I could be here to introduce some laid-backness to his life.’

The look Arthur threw him was scandalized. Uther’s face hardened. Clearly, what little respect Merlin engendered in the man went out of the window, and Merlin seriously considered following it.

‘Arthur, I’m guessing you invited your boyfriend to stay over for Christmas?’ Morgause asked.

‘Yes,’ said Arthur, and ‘No,’ said Merlin. They looked at each other.

‘Of course Merlin’s staying,’ Arthur said with a stern look he usually wore before jumping head-first into a bottomless pit of unimaginable terror that Merlin would be obliged to follow him into and rescue later, if only for the pleasure of delivering a much deserved “I told you so” in an appropriately grumpy tone. ‘Wouldn’t that be lovely, father?’

‘I’m sure it would be,’ said Uther with a tightly-controlled fury.

‘I see Morgana over there, so if you don’t mind?’ Arthur said, steering them away before waiting for a dismissal. His body was shaking with anger, and his grip on Merlin’s waist intensified to the point of pain. Merlin wasn’t sure if the part of his anatomy Arthur’s fingernails were digging into was his liver or his spleen, because he was frankly too bewildered by his momentary lapse of sanity to comprehend details.

‘Remind me again,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t I here to make things _better_ between you and your father?’

‘Yes, but I never trusted in your ability to follow simple instructions,’ Arthur said grimly.

Merlin sighed.

‘This is getting better and better,’ he said.

Morgana spotted them at that very moment and was sailing in their direction. She had donned an elaborate dress of dark-green with a laced-up corset and altogether too much lace. Her black tresses were flowing freely down her back. 

‘Merlin!’ she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. ‘How wonderful to see you!’

‘You too,’ he said warmly, hugging her back. The pleasure of seeing a friendly face immediately made him relax to the point where he no longer felt that a tiniest sound would trigger a fight-or-flight response. 

When Morgana pulled back, Arthur’s arm snaked around him almost automatically in a protective gesture that Merlin was almost prepared to take for granted until he noticed how her eyes tracked the movement and then widened. 

‘You’re together?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Arthur. 

It all came crashing back, causing Merlin to relapse into discomfort. Morgana and him didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and they both had their weaker moments, but he still considered her one of his closest friends. Lying to her wasn’t a thrilling prospect – and lying it had to be, because either Arthur never told her about his awful, half-baked plan or she was a truly terrific actress.

‘Well, it’s about time,’ she said, and Merlin gaped, unsure what to make of that statement. ‘Congratulations!’ She pecked Arthur on his cheek and then said, narrow-eyed, ‘Even though Merlin’s too good for you.’ 

‘Who? Me?’ The sheer ridiculousness of his position, and the inanity of that statement, made Merlin laugh. ‘Are you kidding? We were made for each other!’

‘Yes, that was the general consensus,’ she said with a pleased little smirk. ‘Oh, Gwaine owes me _so_ much money.’

‘What?’ Arthur said, accurately voicing Merlin’s thoughts. 

‘Never you mind, dear brother,’ she patted his shoulder and flashed him another bright grin. ‘Well, I hope you lovebirds enjoy our little celebration of rampant consumerism—‘

‘Don’t you start,’ Arthur warned her.

‘Well, have fun!’ she swept away towards Morgause. Flabbergasted, Merlin watched her go.

‘Didn’t she have a hand in organising this?’ he asked.

‘She did,’ Arthur’s face was growing darker by the second. ‘If you see any suspicious symbols, run.’ 

Merlin snorted and pointed upwards. Arthur followed his line of sight and groaned.

The chandelier was suspended above them, beautiful and bright. It was shaped, unmistakeably, like the sun. 

Part of Morgana’s on-going quarrel with Uther dealt with honouring traditions that she saw no point in, and Christmas was a prime example. While Merlin generally agreed with her views he was a lot more laid-back about it, and he could never stop being amazed at the sheer effort she would put in her passive-aggressive references to winter’s solstice and cycle of nature and overall symbolism.

‘I hope for her sake that nobody notices,’ Arthur said, which Merlin took to mean, _I hope, for her sake, that father doesn’t notice._

‘I doubt that,’ he said, mostly because that would require Uther to care in the first place.

At that moment someone crept up on them, causing Merlin to jump. Arthur grabbed his waist with both hands to steady him and Merlin’s train of thoughts promptly crashed.

‘Champagne, sir?’ It was George, an old family servant, and a man of many talents, most of which involved polishing, and one expression, which was that of slight disapproval, at least where Merlin was concerned.

‘I wouldn’t mind something stronger,’ Arthur said. His hands slipped away from Merlin and he took a small step away to adjust his clothing. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

‘Certainly, sir,’ said George, producing a glass of brandy from who-knows-where. Merlin accepted a champagne flute, eager to try the real stuff rather than the cheap sparkling wine he usually had. 

George vanished into thin air, as good butlers do. Merlin, overcome with nervousness and embarrassment, nearly downed the glass in one go; the taste didn’t even have a chance to register but the bubbles most certainly did, squeezing into every available airspace and making him choke.

Arthur sighed.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘There are still some people I need to introduce you to.’

It was then that they run into Mithian.

The problem with Arthur, Merlin thought, was that he was a serial monogamist and that he chose his partners alternately to appease or piss off his father. Mithian fell squarely and without hesitation into the former category. She was the perfect combination of class, good looks, intelligence and sense of humour to get into Uther’s good graces and still be attractive to Arthur (and a decent human being). What’s worse, she seemed to genuinely _like_ Arthur. And, unlike the Sophias and Vivians of the past, she was actually nice to Merlin.

Merlin loathed her.

‘Hello, Merlin,’ she said with a warm smile. He shook her hand, hoping the animosity wasn’t written on his face. Although, judging by the way her expression fell, it probably was.

‘Be nice,’ Arthur chided him and then fled under some ridiculous pretence. Coward.

Both Merlin and Mithian watched Arthur until he disappeared in the crowd; then they had no choice but to look at one another.

‘I understand you two are a couple now?’ Mithian said eventually, after the pause stretched on for too long. 

‘Yes,’ said Merlin with way more conviction than the situation warranted.

‘Congratulations,’ she said. 

‘Thank you.’

She coughed.

‘Well at least that explains why you always hated me,’ she said with faux cheerfulness.

‘I don’t hate you,’ Merlin said, surprising himself with how honest that was. She didn’t look convinced though.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘But since it all worked out for you, maybe you’ll finally give me a chance?’

He tried to cover his guilt with a smile, because – she really wasn’t to blame, was she? 

It came out crooked, but her snort indicated that she, at least, appreciated the effort.

***

The strangest thing was, the horribly awkward meeting with Mithian wasn’t even the worst part of Merlin’s evening.

***

Around 2 A.M. the party guests began to disappear. The courtyard came alive with voices and sounds of engines and the squealing of tires. Arthur took a position by the front door, saying goodbye and relaying Christmas wishes to the departing. Merlin had been dragged along, and was shivering quietly next to him and pressing maybe a little too close.

‘I think that was the last one,’ Arthur said, when George managed to wrestle a very drunk Alined into the car with the sheer power of servile persistence, while the bored chauffer was finishing off a truly foul cigarette.

‘Indeed, sir. And your room has been prepared, if you wish to retire,’ George said. 

‘Why would my room need—oh,’ Arthur’s voice drifted off and a slight flush appeared on his cheeks. He had been holding Merlin in his arms, rubbing his shoulder absent-mindedly, and only now appeared to notice.

George disappeared. Merlin and Arthur stood in silence for a while, completely focused on watching the snow-covered landscape and _not one another._

‘Don’t you have like, a bazillion bedrooms,’ Merlin asked eventually.

‘Don’t chicken out on me,’ Arthur said.

And that was that. 

Arthur’s bedroom was spacious and nicely decorated, although mostly devoid of any personal touches as Arthur spent most of his time in his flat in London. There was a TV and an old PlayStation that Merlin remembered being completely in love with when he was younger (and was convinced Arthur had only bought because Merlin wanted it so badly). There was an en-suite bathroom. There was a giant, two-person bed. 

It stood looming in the very centre of the room; Merlin’s eyes kept drifting towards it. He couldn’t help himself. It was just so— _there._

‘What could possibly go wrong,’ he muttered to himself while he washed and undressed. He had no PJs – no clothes for tomorrow, either – and from what he knew and tried not to think about very much, Arthur liked to sleep naked.

In the end Arthur handed him a pair of soft flannel PJ bottoms that somehow stayed up on Merlin’s stupidly bony hips. Then, in deadly silence, they took to two opposite sides of the bed and wrapped themselves in the covers. Merlin was cocooned so tightly he had difficulty moving, and was perched on the very edge of the bed; the prospect of falling over wasn’t as terrifying as moving closer to where Arthur was lying, in a position directly mirroring Merlin’s own.

Merlin lay awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and listened to the sound of Arthur’s breathing – breathing, not snoring. Which meant Arthur wasn’t asleep either.

After a long time, Arthur muttered, ‘Thank you,’ so softly Merlin barely caught it. 

***

The morning rose grey and dark. What little patch of sky could be seen was tightly covered with clouds – an ominous, tangible threat of oncoming snow. It was also cold, much colder than was strictly fair.

Merlin wanted nothing more than to burrow himself under the fluffy covers and hibernate until spring. There was something else next to him: a source of warm, solid heat, smelling pleasantly of soap. He covered the unreasonably large distance between himself and the warmness and snuggled into it, noting with happy satisfaction that it reached out for him and pulled him close. He felt safe; he felt comforted.

But then his higher brain functions kicked in and his whole body froze. 

He had his head pillowed on somebody’s chest – somebody’s very shirtless, extremely well-toned chest. There was an arm thrown casually over his shoulders. He heard, unmistakably, the sound of soft snoring; somebody’s heartbeat reverberated through his head.

As gently as possible, he raised his head and noticed a patch of golden hair. 

Arthur. Asleep. And snuggling Merlin. And, because the Universe hated Merlin with a vengeance, just now starting to wake up.

He blinked his eyes several times – and fuck, Merlin never appreciated how incredibly blue they were – before something must have clicked. A frozen look of horror passed over his face.

‘Oh Christ,’ he mumbled, voice still muffled with sleep. ‘We didn’t—?’

‘No,’ Merlin said.

‘Oh.’

‘Right.’

Arthur cleared his throat. His pupils were blown wide, and a dark flush rose in his cheeks.

‘That’s good,’ he said, voice oddly breathless. 

‘Yes,’ said Merlin, aware that the mixing wave of early-morning arousal and bitter disappointment was making him slightly dizzy. ‘Good.’

After a beat of silence, Merlin realized that they were still frozen, their gazes locked and their bodies touching in ways that threatened to embarrass someone very quickly.

‘Can you—?’

‘Right.’

Extricating themselves was a delicate manoeuvre and reminded Merlin of that one time Gwaine had made them play Twister. It ended with all four of them – Gwaine, Percy, Arthur and Merlin – collapsed on the floor in a tangled mass of limbs, with Merlin somehow ending up on the bottom. Except back then they were mostly clothed, and right now Arthur was an endless expanse of warm skin that Merlin’s treacherous tongue wanted to lick.

‘I’m going to wash up,’ Arthur said after climbing out of bed. He wasn’t facing Merlin and retreated to the bathroom quite quickly.

Merlin groaned and banged his head against the pillow. He lay motionless in bed, afraid that the smallest bit of friction will get him hard and _wouldn’t that be fun to deal with._

From the bathroom came the sound of water falling. Which meant Arthur was taking a shower. Immediately an image of Arthur, naked, formed in his mind, with rivulets of water running down his body while his hands spread soapy foam around …

He jumped out of the bed as if burned and started stalking the floor. He shoved his thoughts in another direction – thermodynamics. God, he hated thermodynamics.

His dignity was saved by a phone call, but not before the ringtone gave him a heart attack. After a frantic search he found it in the pocket of his coat, slung carelessly over Arthur’s desk chair. He barely noted the caller’s name – Mordred – before pressing the speaker to his ear.

‘Morning,’ said Mordred. ‘Hope I didn’t wake you.’

‘You didn’t,’ said Merlin. ‘What happened?’

‘Just wanted to wish you Merry Christmas.’

That took Merlin by surprise, since he hadn’t anticipated that Mordred and he were on Merry-Christmas-wishing terms. Mordred was younger than Merlin by a few years – still a high school student, the poor kid. Merlin had been his tutor in maths and physics for a while and they sometimes talked on Skype but there was no great friendship involved. Still, he couldn’t help but notice that there was something off about Mordred’s tone of voice, which was usually calm and level.

‘And same to you,’ he said. He couldn’t stop the bitter chuckle that followed next. ‘Bet your Christmas doesn’t suck as much as mine?’

There was silence at the other end of the line and then Mordred said, drily, ‘Somehow I doubt that.’

Shit. Merlin wanted badly to kick himself in the shin because he had forgotten, caught up in frustration and anger, that Mordred was orphaned at a young age and probably didn’t even know what Christmas should be _like._

‘Are you home, by the way?’ asked Mordred while Merlin still struggled to find something to say.

‘Er, no. I’m at Arthur’s,’ he replied, grateful, if anything, for the change of topic.

‘Oh. And do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?’

‘Dunno? Same as usual, we’ll find a quiet place with Gwaine and get hopelessly sloshed,’ he said. ‘You can come if you’d like. I can’t promise you anything spectacular—‘

‘No. I would love to. Really,’ Mordred said quietly. 

‘Great. I’ll let you know once I have any details.’ The New Year’s Eve tradition in their house involved Mum inviting Gaius, Kilgharrah and Aunt Mab over; then they would drink too much cider and play bridge and sometimes Scrabble until wee hours of the morning. One terrifying, memorable New Year’s Eve, Mab had brought in Monopoly. That night was best left forgotten. Merlin’s tradition, on the other hand, involved getting out of the house as quickly as possible. Gwaine was very keen on pub crawls, but they always ended up the same way: getting drunk and rambling about philosophy until they passed out. Sometimes others joined – Lancelot and Gwen most often, or Percy and Elyan – while Arthur and Morgana went skiing. There was a definite advantage to this development – a highschooler would keep them from drinking too hard, in the absence of Gwen.

Merlin said goodbye to Mordred and disconnected. He texted his Mum while he was at it – he would have called, but Mum had certain suspicions about his feelings for Arthur and probably wouldn’t enjoy listening to what he had gotten himself into.

He put down his phone just in time to watch Arthur emerge from the bathroom in all his damp, shirtless glory, with clouds of steam following in his wake.

‘You can take a shower now,’ he said helpfully, too busy drying his hair with a fluffy purple towel to notice that Merlin was blatantly staring, or so Merlin hoped.

***

Arthur was out to outdo himself with thoughtfulness, it seemed. He had found Merlin clean clothes – a pair of sensible jeans and a polo shirt in an outrageous shade of red. Merlin felt a little flustered as he pulled it on, but no, there was no lingering smell of Arthur to distract him, possibly because George used enough detergent to permanently damage the environment in the entire county. But still, it felt—nice. Domestic. _Here I am_ , Merlin thought, _wearing my boyfriend’s clothes. About to eat Christmas breakfast with my boyfriend’s family. Wouldn’t it be nice to do it more often?_

Arthur was already dressed, typing away on his smartphone. Working. Merlin felt a sudden and inexplicable urge to throw the damn thing out of the window and snog Arthur stupid.

He counted to five million in his head.

‘Alright, let’s go,’ he said with a bright smile. Arthur threw him a look, distracted – there was a frown on his face – but laid the phone down before Merlin could resort to drastic measures.

‘Fine,’ he said, but paused with a hand on the doorknob. ‘Merlin, listen. My father can be—‘

‘Overbearing? Condescending? Despotic?’ Merlin supplied, all feigned innocence.

‘No, shut up. I meant—don’t take everything he says seriously, okay?’

‘Arthur, if I took everything your father says seriously I would have spent my adolescent years writing bad poetry while rocking back and forth in the corner in a hideous emo haircut,’ Merlin said.

‘Isn’t that what happened?’ Arthur said with a small smile.

‘No, I sometimes left my corner. Come on. I’ll be fine.’

‘Thanks. You’re a real friend,’ Arthur said all of a sudden. The scowl he adopted next conveyed his opinion about this abrupt display of affection.

‘Of course I am,’ Merlin said lightly. He beamed at Arthur. ‘We were made for each after all. Didn’t Morgana say so?’

‘She did,’ Arthur said, and gulped.

They were stuck again, just staring at each other. And, no matter how he wracked his brain, Merlin couldn’t decipher the expression on Arthur’s face.

‘Come on,’ Arthur said eventually, breaking the silence. He went out to the darkened, gloomy corridor, gesturing for Merlin to follow him and began walking in the direction of the dining room. After a while he asked, ‘Who was that?’

‘Who was what?’ said Merlin, momentarily distracted by the sight of Arthur’s regal profile.

‘The person on the phone, _Merlin_. The one you were talking to.’

‘Mordred.’

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, nearly causing Merlin to crash into him and topple them both over.

‘ _That_ Mordred?’

‘It’s not a very common name,’ Merlin observed, and took a quiet moment to appreciate the irony of himself pointing that out. ‘And I don’t see why you hate him so much.’

‘He’s obsessed with you. It’s creepy.’

Merlin snorted in disbelief.

‘Are you kidding? Arthur, I would notice. Trust me.’

‘Your powers of observations are not as astounding as you might think,’ Arthur said testily.

‘Oh, like you’re the one to talk,’ Merlin muttered under his breath, but of course Arthur heard him.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing,’ Merlin said, instead of the much more honest, _I’m in love with you._

The dark look on Arthur’s face promised retribution but the hand he wrapped around Merlin’s waist was almost—possessive. Merlin forced himself not to read too much into that. They were playing a game after all, and Arthur Pendragon did not do failure.

They resumed walking in silence. Arthur’s grip did not waver and Merlin didn’t try to move away, even though there was no-one watching them.

‘I’m sorry I ruined your Christmas,’ Arthur said quietly after a while.

With great effort of will, Merlin kept on walking.

‘And you eavesdrop. How charming,’ he said, voice oozing sarcasm. Once he sneaked a look at Arthur’s face and noticed how unexpectedly serious it was, his anger faltered. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It’s not that bad.’

‘Give it time,’ Arthur said grimly, and pushed a door open.

The corridor brought them to an old-fashioned dining room with a long, rectangular table occupying the centre. Merlin took a moment to appreciate the décor – anything wooden was made of dark mahogany with sparse ornamentation, warmed by burgundy red for the tablecloth and curtains. There was a small, tasteful Christmas tree in the corner, and decorations on a few flat surfaces. Nothing too fancy. The breakfast, laid for four, was also delightfully simple after yesterday’s feast.

Uther was already there, seated at the head of the table with a coffee mug in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He spared them a mildly annoyed glance and went back to reading.

‘Morning, father,’ said Arthur.

‘I see you’re still here,’ said Uther.

‘Merry Christmas, Mr Pendragon,’ said Merlin.

Merlin blinked, slowly.

‘Merry Christmas to you, too—Martin, wasn’t it?’ 

‘It’s Merlin,’ said Merlin.

‘Do excuse me. It’s hard to keep track of Arthur’s liaisons.’

‘We’ve met almost thirteen years ago, Mr Pendragon,’ said Merlin calmly.

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes. I punched Arthur in the face,’ said Merlin. ‘And you called me a barbaric, unstable little brat and tried to get me thrown out of school.’

That managed to catch Uther’s attention. He put down the paper and levelled Merlin with a look.

‘You punched him? Why?’

‘He was being an arse,’ Merlin explained, which was a small word to convey just how much weight Arthur liked to throw around when he was younger.

‘It’s good to see you have a healthy approach to solving relationship problems,’ said Uther. 

‘I deserved it, father,’ Arthur said. He was, by the look of things, annoyed.

Morgana chose that moment to walk into the room. Her hair was either artfully tousled or not yet done – one never knew, with Morgana. She sank into her chair gracefully and immediately went for the coffee.

‘He did deserve it,’ she said, cheerful. ‘And it was hilarious. Merlin was this scrawny little kid—‘

‘Hey,’ Merlin protested.

‘And Arthur was just _looking_ at him, like he couldn’t believe what was going on.’

‘He caught me off guard,’ Arthur grumbled.

‘Weren’t you taking boxing class for such a purpose?’ Uther asked.

Arthur opened his mouth but Morgana cut in.

‘Arthur hadn’t been the same since that moment,’ she said, almost dreamily. Then she sobered up and said to Uther, ‘But it was quite rude, though. The way you treated poor Merlin.’

‘Well, Merlin. I apologize for trying to get you thrown out of school,’ said Uther in such an uncharacteristic display of common decency that both Merlin and Arthur just sat there, gaping. ‘And you, Arthur? Honestly, you are twice the boy’s size.’

‘Oh, _are_ you?’ Morgana said with a lewd smirk.

It occurred to Merlin – as he contemplated drowning himself in a bowl of cereal – that Arthur was very, very right.

***

Thankfully the conversation – if one could call it that – moved quickly from Merlin and Arthur’s teenaged exploits to business. There were some embezzlement troubles that Merlin didn’t fully understand and fluctuations at the market that both Uther and Arthur discussed at length while Morgana and Merlin dozed off. 

After breakfast the family time has been put on hold, as Uther and Arthur departed to the study to argue over something. Merlin watched them go, frowning.

‘Is it always like that?’ he asked Morgana. She dragged him through the house, showing off the library (very cool) her room (dark and with some disturbing reptilian imaginary and also snakes) and the view from the attic (spectacular). In the end they found themselves in the sitting room, watching stupid films and wondering how to get George to bring them more scones.

‘Who, them? Pretty much,’ she said, unbothered, popping three grapes into her mouth. ‘Mind you, Arthur is being a ray of sunshine.’

‘Isn’t he always?’ Merlin snorted.

‘He is around you,’ Morgana said, suddenly serious. ‘And honestly? You don’t know how happy I am that you two hooked up.’

Merlin cleared his throat and avoided looking at her. 

‘Is it the part where you threaten to kill me if I hurt your brother?’ he asked, making an attempt at a light tone and failing miserably. His voice broke rather pathetically in the middle.

‘No,’ she said in a cold, detached voice. ‘This is the part where I promise you, Merlin: if you ever hurt my brother I’m going to make you _wish_ I killed you.’

He snorted, looked at her, tried to find something in her eyes that would ease the sudden weight in his stomach – a glint of affection, amusement, anything – and came back empty-handed. She glared at him, stone-faced and unapologetic.

‘I’m not like that,’ he said earnestly, and then backtracked. This wasn’t real, was it? They weren’t actually dating. There was no reason for the cold sweat that broke out all over his body. He was not, _would not_ , hurt Arthur. It was all a big, stupid show.

He opened his mouth, ready to just lay it all down and face Morgana’s disappointment and/or fury, when Arthur all but stormed into the room.

‘I take it the conversation has gone well,’ said Morgana, back to her usual smirking self. Arthur treated her to the patented Pendragon death glare and plopped down next to Merlin, sprawling himself all over him like an overgrown, angry cat. Merlin’s hand went automatically to pet his golden hair and he felt Arthur relax a little.

There was a possibility that he was losing track of what was an act and what was real, but Merlin felt – with a surge of affection at the way Arthur smiled – that, for a little while longer, things were as real as they could get.

***

‘Do you play?’ asked Uther.

Merlin stopped in his tracks. He had been lost twice on the way to the bathroom and gravitated to the library, where Uther sat next to a roaring fireplace, a chess table in front of him. The opposite chair, straight-back and wooden, was pushed aside in a silent invitation.

‘A little,’ Merlin said, and sank into it. 

Spending time with Uther hadn’t been very high on his list of priorities. However, any minute Uther spent being mean to Merlin meant he wasn’t heaping daddy issues on Arthur, so Merlin sat back and decided to take one for the team.

He hoped against all odds that they could keep it silent – he liked to concentrate when playing, amongst other things – or failing that, that he could get away with pointless small talk. But Arthur’s sense of subtlety had to come from somewhere, and Uther opened the game and said, ‘Are you serious about my son?’

Merlin swallowed. The chess pieces at least gave him something to look at, so that he didn’t have to withhold Uther’s searching gaze.

‘Yes,’ he said (which wasn’t a lie, technically).

‘And is he serious about you?’

More swallowing. His thoughts were a little jumbled, and he was moving without thinking things through, which would definitely bite him back later on.

‘Yes,’ he said. The lie fell smoothly from his tongue.

After a moment of silence, he decided to take the initiative – because if being Arthur’s friend for so long taught him anything, it was that Uther didn’t treat his adversaries kindly once he got them cornered.

‘Do you object, sir?’

‘I have my concerns.’

‘About my intentions?’

Uther looked up at him, toying with one of Merlin’s fallen bishops.

‘Your—intentions, as you put it, are quite clear,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If misguided in their nature.’

Merlin didn’t reply for a while, executing a more complicated series of moves to make up for all his lost pieces. 

‘Are you implying I’m after Arthur’s money?’ he asked eventually, keeping his voice neutral.

‘No. But you would be stupid to pretend that isn’t a factor.’

‘Call me stupid, then,’ he said, anger boiling inside him. The worst part was that he was unable to _do_ anything about it. Any outward sign of anger – balling his fists, gritting his teeth – would be like handing himself to Uther on a silver platter.

In an effort to appear unfazed, he completely missed Uther’s intent and lost one of his knights and a pawn.

Uther didn’t act particularly triumphant at that turn of events. He was drumming his fingers on the edge of the chessboard, seemingly lost in thought.

‘I don’t think you are stupid,’ he said eventually.

‘Well, thank you,’ Merlin said and was promptly stared down. Uther wasn’t the sort of man who enjoyed being interrupted.

‘However, you and my son come from very different backgrounds. I doubt that this relationship is going to work.’

Merlin flexed his fingers and forced himself to smile.

‘Is that what you told the others?’ he asked, carefully not looking at Uther. ‘Sat them down and patiently pointed out all the ways in which they weren’t good enough for Arthur?’

‘The list wrote itself in some cases,’ said Uther, with a touch of malice to his voice. ‘Would you like to hear yours?’

‘I think you already gave me a pretty good idea,’ said Merlin, trying to compose his thoughts into some semblance of strategy.

The game took a decidedly aggressive turn – most evident in the fact that the fallen pieces were slammed down on the side of the board with a lot more force than was strictly necessary. Whatever the outcome of this game might be, Merlin thought wildly, he would welcome its arrival.

‘You have no idea how to conduct yourself in the types of social situations that are common for Arthur,’ Uther said calmly. ‘You show no understanding and no interest in his career. How can you possibly hope to support him if you don’t even care what’s going on in his life?’

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to deliver some sort of crushing retort, but he found none. 

‘You’re likeable enough, I suppose,’ said Uther. ‘But also naïve, disorganised, lazy and irresponsible. One day Arthur will have to wake up and see that entertainment value is not the only thing to look for in a partner. And then where will you be?’

‘By his side,’ Merlin said coldly. ‘Like I always am.’

‘And you think this is enough?’

‘I think this is much more than _you_ were ever willing to give him.’

Uther gave him a humourless, tight-lipped smile.

‘Is that your best line of defence? That you may be bad, but somebody else is worse?’

‘No. But I’m doubting your right to be talking me down as Arthur’s partner when you messed him up so badly as a father,’ Merlin said. 

‘We are talking about Arthur’s future, not his past,’ Uther said. ‘Oh, and consider this, Merlin. Arthur will always earn more than you do, in addition to what he already has. What illusion of partnership do you hope to maintain when in reality you are nothing but a kept man?’

‘I don’t care about his money, for God’s sake,’ Merlin snarled. ‘Why would you even think—‘

‘Perhaps you don’t. But you should realize that there’s nothing that you could possibly offer Arthur – because when he does, it will be too late.’

Merlin sat motionless, not bothering to conceal the tremor in his hands. He kept his eyes fixated on the chessboard, trying desperately to hold himself in check, when a voice sounded down the corridor, startling them both.

‘Merlin! Where is that useless, little—‘

He looked up, only to see Uther’s predatory smile.

‘Well. True love has spoken,’ he said.

Merlin sighed. ‘I’m here, sweetheart,’ he said, and winced. That sounded fake even to his own ears.

Arthur walked in, his eyes sweeping across the room. Merlin found he couldn’t quite meet his gaze. He also noted that the atmosphere in the room shifted, losing some of its tension and hostility.

‘What’s going on?’ Arthur asked quietly.

‘Merlin and I were having a friendly game,’ Uther said. He leant forward, moved his Queen and announced, ‘Check.’

Arthur took a few steps forward, the thick carpet muffling the sound of his boots. He put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, giving it a painful squeeze.

‘Father, what did you do?’ he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘It’s nothing Arthur,’ said Merlin. He took in a shaky breath – Arthur’s grip lessened but it was still there, comforting in its persistence. Only a few figures were left on the board – any strategy would be immediately transparent unless Uther was distracted, but he didn’t suppose it would be a good idea to start insulting Arthur’s father while Arthur was there.

‘You’re very bad at lying,’ Arthur told him, irritable.

‘He is,’ Uther agreed.

‘Maybe you should add that to your list, sir,’ said Merlin sweetly.

‘I already have.’

‘What?’

‘I told you Arthur, it’s nothing!’

He only became aware that he was shouting when he noticed that Arthur was taking a step back, his hands raised – either to placate or defend himself, Merlin wasn’t sure.

‘Sorry,’ he said, much quieter now. Uther was giving him a smug smile – _congratulations Merlin, you have confirmed all my suspicions, have a cookie_ – but Merlin, well past the point of caring, glared back. ‘And that’s a check mate, by the way,’ he said, standing up. 

‘No, it’s not,’ said Arthur, squinting at the board.

Uther sighed and said, ‘It is, actually. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss, Mr Pendragon?’

He made for the door but Arthur stopped him, reaching for his hand. 

‘What exactly did you tell him?’ Arthur asked, the anger in his voice apparent.

‘Nothing he wouldn’t already know.’

Merlin flinched. He tried to wrestle back his hand but Arthur only gripped it tighter, barely looking in his direction.

‘Father,’ he said – quiet, and all the more frightening for that. ‘If you can’t respect Merlin as my friend, you could at least show him some respect as a guest in your own house. You owe him—‘

‘I owe him nothing,’ Uther interrupted. ‘And I’m not going to apologize for what I said, unless your so-called _friend_ proves me wrong.’

‘Then what did you say?’

‘Arthur, it really doesn’t matter,’ Merlin said, but clearly he was no longer a part of this conversation because Arthur didn’t even seem to notice.

_‘What did you say?’_

Uther sighed, impatient, and said, ‘I merely pointed out that perhaps your relationship was a little rushed. And that you should consider a more suitable partner.’

‘Well, that’s one way of phrasing that,’ said Merlin tiredly into the cold, empty silence that followed.

Arthur was trembling. His face reddened and he bared his teeth in a truly unbecoming display of feral anger. Merlin briefly considered trying to calm him down, but one look at Arthur told him what a good idea that would be.

‘I can’t believe you,’ he said eventually. ‘I can’t believe you would just—you don’t _say_ shit like that to people. Why would you even—‘

‘Arthur—‘

‘Now listen to me,’ Arthur said. ‘Listen very carefully. You don’t get to insult Merlin. You don’t get to decide what is good for me. And you don’t get to treat me like a hapless child. And for the record? I’m pretty damn sure Merlin is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And you don’t get to question that, either.’

He stormed out of the room, dragging Merlin behind like a rag doll. Once they were safely out of the library, Arthur’s anger seemed to abate and Merlin was able to free his hand. Carefully, he flexed his fingers to get the blood flowing again, hopefully restoring feeling along the way. Arthur’s eyes followed the movements, slowly widening.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said hoarsely.

He looked lost and torn, caught somewhere between the insecure little boy Uther always brought out in him and the strong, capable young man that Merlin knew him to be. 

‘And about earlier. Merlin—‘

Merlin shoved Arthur towards the nearest wall and kissed him stupid.

He was flying. Finally, finally he had Arthur were he wanted him: pinned to the wall, to be cherished and worshipped and protected. A thought arose, knocking hesitantly to point out that it was a little creepy, but Merlin didn’t care about creepy, not when he had Arthur’s mouth under his, Arthur’s hands tangling in his hair, Arthur’s body pressing back into his own, Arthur Arthur _Arthur_.

And Arthur was kissing back like his life depended on it. Like Merlin was the only thing keeping him afloat. 

After a minute or possibly an hour they broke off, breathless and trembling.

‘You,’ Merlin announced into the tight space between them, ‘have no idea how long I waited to do that.’

He blinked and tried to focus his gaze on Arthur’s face – wide-blown pupils, lips red and swollen, tousled hair. The sight made him laugh, happier than he ever remembered being.

But then Arthur said, ‘Well, why didn’t you?’

Why?

‘I wasn’t sure how you would react,’ Merlin said truthfully.

Whatever was between them for that bright, golden moment was vanishing without a trace as Arthur’s eyes narrowed at him.

‘And how did you expect me to react?’

‘I—‘

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and Merlin stepped back, letting him wrap himself back into his personal space. There was coldness and distance in his expression that felt like a blow to Merlin’s stomach.

‘I was sure you would reject me,’ Merlin said. 

‘Oh, you were sure, weren’t you?’ Arthur snarled. ‘Everyone is so _sure_ of what I would and would not do—‘

‘What’s wrong?’ Merlin asked quietly.

‘I am, clearly! Since everybody’s playing the little game of “let’s keep Arthur in the dark lest he hurts himself overreacting”!’

‘I don’t even know what you’re talking about,’ Merlin said. He could feel himself getting angry again, and the emotional rollercoaster was making him slightly nauseous.

‘Of course you do,’ Arthur said. ‘You are just all so much cleverer than me, aren’t you? You and father and Morgana. You all know what’s best for me. You all think it gives you the right to _decide_.’

Merlin watched, agape, as Arthur paced the corridor back and forth. _You and father_. He tried to rein in the sudden urge to resort to physical violence, even though his second best choice was crying hysterically. ‘Oh, is that your definition of overreacting, because in that case you were spot on,’ he spat out.

‘I really don’t need to deal with this right now,’ Arthur said.

‘Then don’t, I really couldn’t care less!’ Merlin shouted, rather loudly for someone who was supposed not to care.

He brushed past Arthur and fled, not stopping until he found a secluded corridor upstairs. It had large windows with a wonderful view of the snow-covered garden. For a long while he stood there, forehead rested against the cool window pane, and waited for the world to start making sense again.

***

Dinner was a disaster.

Not the food; the food was fantastic. Merlin took the opportunity to try everything, even though his stomach felt like it was made of lead. 

Morgana made some attempts at small talk but they all fell flat and eventually she, too, succumbed to the general oppressive air of righteous anger. Even George must have noticed that something was amiss. He ghosted into the room with a sombre look on his face and fiddled with the stereo until it started playing classical music and then stood back, pleased with himself. As far as attempting to lighten the mood went it wasn’t very successful – George was the kind of man who would consider Beethoven’s 7th Symphony dangerously trivial.

Afterwards there were some stilted goodbyes, during which Uther didn’t ignore Merlin’s existence, (score for Merlin) but shook his hand with a grip so firm it threatened to break his metacarpal bones, (score, unfortunately, for Uther) following which Arthur announced he would drive Merlin home.

They didn’t talk. Arthur politely refused Hunith’s request to come in for some tea and biscuits, leaving her frowning and hurt. Merlin gave her a quick peck on the cheek, muttered a laconic, _Don’t ask_ , and locked himself in his upstairs bedroom, concluding that Arthur was a prat, and Merlin absolutely _did not_ need him in his life.

At which point he realised that he was still wearing Arthur’s red shirt and promptly burst into tears.

***

The next few days were that of domestic bliss. Merlin ate too much and talked with his Mum a lot, called all of his extended family and friends—

(‘Merlin, what did you do?’ was what Kilgharrah said in an exasperated tone immediately after picking up; Merlin disconnected and called back later to apologize.)

\--and watched stupid films on TV until he felt his head was going to explode.

On December 27th, Merlin decided to man up and catch up on all his coursework, and on December 28th he put the plan in motion. About a quarter through the first of three piles, his phone buzzed.

**Sorry I was a dick. Wanna spend New Year’s with me?**

He couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips, but the latent anger was still very much there.

**What, another party u need an escort for?**

Arthur didn’t take very long to answer.

**No you moron, I’m taking you skiing.**

And then, a moment later:

**It’s on me.**

And another:

**Also, I don’t care that you can’t ski.**

And:

**Please say yes?**

Merlin swallowed. He didn’t feel quite ready to face Arthur – not yet. But he couldn’t leave the things like that, could he? His fingers shook a little as he typed:

**Sure, whatever.**

But, feeling a little cross, he also typed, **But Gwaine & Mordred are coming as well, I promised**, and hit “Send” before he could change his mind.

He waited a full ten minutes, too giddy to get anything substantial done, before the phone went off again.

**I hate u and Morgana also. The details r in your mail.**

Much, much later – after some frantic, last-minute packing, many busy phone calls and drinking too much wine with his Mum – Merlin, slightly tipsy, giggled as he composed another message and fell asleep with his finger on the “Send” button.

**Just so u know, I’m not putting out.**

He woke up, hung over and slightly mortified, to find a reply:

**We’ll see.**

***

The Pendragon winter refuge was a charming little cottage, placed snuggly on a mountain slope. The view was magnificent – the sun beating down on the glittering snow; the majestic Alps all around them; the small, picturesque village. There was an abundance of ski runs in the vicinity but the cottage was set apart, providing a sense of solitude and serenity.

It was the perfect romantic getaway, Merlin thought; and wondered if it could really accommodate ten people.

(‘Well,’ Morgana had explained on their way here, ‘if you are taking Gwaine and Mordred, I want Gwen there as well. And you can’t have Gwen without Lance! And I brought Leon to keep Arthur company, and Percival is a good laugh, if a bit shy. And Elyan! Really Merlin, it’s only sensible.’

‘You forget you weren’t invited in the first place,’ Arthur had said, loudly. His grip on the steering wheel was a little too forceful – Merlin stayed behind to make sure there were no dents.

‘Nonsense, dear brother. We were spending New Year’s together since we were little. And you know how much I love skiing!’)

Arthur had subtly indicated that Morgana wasn’t very pleased with either of them over that little stunt with pretend boyfriends and that this was her form of revenge (“subtly indicated” here meaning “loudly proclaiming he could still feel the venom leaking out of his ears after Morgana was done yelling”). Merlin thought it best to stay out of her way, hyperventilating a little every time she glared in his direction. So far he had been lucky; Arthur had taken the sharp edge of her anger. Although there was still some malice left as she directed people to their respective rooms.

‘Right, so Gwen and Lance can have the master bedroom.’

‘We can’t possibly--’ Gwen began, but Morgana waved her off.

‘Shush! We can’t have you two separated or rooming with others, you’ve been together forever! Haven’t they, _Arthur_?’ she added with a nasty smirk. Arthur looked like he swallowed a lemon. ‘Right, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Percy – you don’t mind the living room, do you? The couch is pretty comfortable and we have spare beds in the basement. And that leaves the guest bedroom – Arthur, Merlin, Mordred and I will squeeze in just fine, won’t we?’

Screw lemons, Merlin thought. Arthur looked like somebody forced a bottle of vinegar down his throat. And Mordred— Mordred looked about ready to do just that.

He guessed it was too much to hope that the two of them would get on.

***

Skiing, Merlin concluded, was the art of attaching two planks of wood to one’s feet, sliding down a slippery slope, and postponing the moment of one’s tragic and imminent demise while on the constant lookout for the next shelter that served hot beverages, because honestly, they were the only redeeming part of this whole endeavour.

He was cold. He was bruised. And really, it was not humanly possible to maintain any dignity while practicing snowplough turn.

It also turned out that he was the only beginner in the group, which gave the others plenty of opportunity to mock him – good-naturedly, or so Morgana claimed – and shout good advice until he managed to shoo them off. Afterwards it was a little better, and without the teasing and constant well-meaning noise it turned out that maybe his initial assumptions were all wrong. The last day of the year was very pretty after all, with the sun and the glittering snow. The slopes were overcrowded, but, oddly enough, nobody wanted to stay in close proximity to Merlin and he hadn’t fallen in over eight minutes, so maybe he was slowly getting the hang of the whole skiing thing.

The perfect bliss lasted about an hour. Then Merlin twisted his ankle.

‘It’s not my fault!’ he gritted out through his teeth while Percival and Gwaine were trying to help him up. ‘Fuck!’

He hadn’t noticed the patch of white ice against white snow while he frantically tried to figure out how to turn without falling over. Next thing he knew, he was rolling through the stuff, hitting his head – thank heavens Arthur insisted he wear a helmet – his legs entangling with the stupid skis and the stupid poles.

Arthur arrived, horribly pale.

‘Merlin!’ he practically yelled, nearly crashing into Gwaine. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Never been better, fuck you very much!’ Merlin shouted back. Some heads were turning in his direction.

‘I think we can safely establish you are in no danger of dying,’ said Gwaine. 

‘Shut up, it’s not funny,’ said Arthur.

‘Come on. We’ll get him to a doctor,’ said Percival. 

‘How?’ Merlin moaned. ‘I can’t ski. I can’t walk. You guys should just leave me here.’

The shock on Arthur’s face was wearing off and he regarded Merlin with a scowl. 

‘Merlin, it’s a _bunny slope_. I’m sure we can figure out a way to get you out.’

Merlin blinked slowly. Now that he considered it, most of the skiers around him stood about level with his waist and had their parents follow them on foot.

‘It may be,’ he said out loud, ‘It may be that I wasn’t made to be a skier.’

‘You think so?’ Arthur snorted, but there was undeniable fondness in his gaze.

With care and deliberation, Percival managed to remove the ski from Merlin’s boot without causing the latter to scandalise everyone in the hearing range. The problem of transportation solved itself, thankfully.

Really, thought Merlin, quiet in his misery. He could live with being sledded down the village road by Percy, Gwaine and Arthur, but the singing was a bit _too_ much.

*** 

The village doctor was a nice old chap who made jokes at them in broken English and laughed at Arthur’s poor attempts to sound coherent in French. He concluded that no, Merlin’s injury wasn’t life-threatening, but he needed to lay still for a couple of days before he was ready to hit the slopes again, which Arthur, and secretly Merlin, greeted with a relieved exhalation. 

It was great that Arthur had a car and could drive Merlin up the slippery road to the cottage. They didn’t talk much – Arthur seemed lost in thought. Whatever put a frown on his face, Merlin didn’t dare guess. He was fairly, reasonably sure Arthur wasn’t mad _at_ him for being a clumsy oaf, but the entire trip didn’t seem to be living up to Arthur’s expectations. And Merlin didn’t know what to say to make it better.

It wasn’t long before the others came back, red-faced and exhausted. The conditions were getting worse, Merlin had been informed – as soon as they were done teasing him about his misadventures on the bunny slopes. The sky overhead was still clear and blue, but the forecast wasn’t too promising, with the wind picking up and steel-grey clouds amassing on the horizon. Sure enough, the snowstorm hit before night began.

‘We should really get going if we want to be there in time,’ said Leon pointedly. There was a fancy hotel down in the village that hosted a New Year’s party that Arthur and Morgana attended almost every year; they were all supposed to go.

Merlin, from his position on the couch where Arthur dumped him earlier, nodded. The others, however, didn’t look convinced. 

‘We can’t leave Merlin alone,’ said Lancelot. 

Gwaine snorted and added, ‘He’ll get bored in ten minutes and burn the cabin down.’

‘He won’t,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m staying.’

Merlin threw back his head and groaned. It was bad enough that the throbbing in his ankle hadn’t subsided; no, Arthur had to overdose on chivalry pills.

‘I’m fine, really,’ he said.

‘Shut up, Merlin. You’re not fooling anyone,’ Arthur snapped back.

‘We should all stay,’ Mordred said. The concern was plain on his face; Gwaine and Gwen were nodding along.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Merlin said. ‘Don’t you dare! I won’t be hearing about how I ruined New Year’s for everyone!’

‘Merlin darling, that’s not a problem,’ Morgana patted him comfortingly on his leg. ‘We will have as much fun watching you suffer.’

‘Witch,’ he muttered. In response, Morgana flashed him her favourite smirk.

‘That’s not debatable,’ Arthur said. ‘Everybody out. Yes, even you,’ he gave Mordred a little shove. 

‘Maybe we should ask Merlin,’ Mordred said, glaring.

‘Merlin would very much like all of you to bugger off,’ Merlin said.

‘You’re injured, you don’t get a vote,’ Gwaine said, messing his hair with a fond look on his face.

‘Seriously. I want you guys to have fun,’ Merlin said. 

‘Somewhere that isn’t here,’ Arthur said pointedly.

‘Now that’s just rude,’ Elyan snorted.

The discussion lasted a while longer while Arthur employed every mean in his considerable arsenal to get them to actually leave. Mordred hovered in the doorway the longest, casting anxious looks in Merlin’s directions.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

‘Yes, he is very, very sure,’ Arthur said.

‘Have fun, guys!’ Merlin shouted after them. 

From the group came various cries of ‘You, too!’ and ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’ and ‘You kids be nice!’.

‘Yes, yes, we heard you!’ Arthur not-so-gently helped Mordred out of the door and locked them firmly behind him. Merlin watched as the muscles in his back relaxed a little.

When Arthur turned around there was a worryingly bright smile on his face.

‘I’m sorry you have to miss the party,’ said Merlin. 

‘I think I’m going to have to live with that,’ said Arthur. ‘You’ll just have to entertain me with conversation.’

‘I’m suffering, remember?’ Merlin raised his leg to prove a point. His ankle had been bandaged and partially immobilised, though the ice packs Arthur put on it were probably overkill.

‘Yes you are,’ Arthur snorted. ‘Anything I can do to ease your pain?’

Merlin considered it.

‘You could start with dinner,’ he said. ‘And maybe something to drink. And—‘

‘ _Merlin_.’

Arthur was standing over him now, frowning. Grudgingly, Merlin sat up to make enough space for them both and propped his leg on the coffee table. 

‘I wasn’t kidding about the drink,’ he said.

‘You’re hopeless.’

There was no bite to Arthur’s tone – instead, it was laced with softness that made Merlin’s breath catch. He dropped all signs of his overworked London self, appearing much more relaxed and _happier_ that Merlin had seen him in months.

Suddenly Merlin felt grateful that Arthur made no move to touch him. He didn’t know how to cover his own awkwardness without hurting Arthur’s feelings – except it made no sense, because he wanted that. He had known he wanted this, wanted _Arthur_ , ever since he stopped being angry about their first meeting. But now that it seemed like a possibility, anxiety settled over him like a cloak.

‘We could watch a movie,’ he said, gulping. Arthur searched his face and something in his expression shut off.

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ he said.

The disappointment in his voice might have been a figment of Merlin’s imagination, although he didn’t think so. He leant forward a pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

‘Sorry, it’s just – the doctor said I shouldn’t be putting too much strain on that ankle.’

As far as excuses went this was pretty lame, admittedly. Arthur grimaced and said, ‘I’d rather not know what kind of activities you had in mind that would put a strain on your _ankle_ , of all things—‘

‘I’m creative,’ said Merlin, deadpan. 

‘God help us all,’ said Arthur.

Since they planned to go out for the evening, there wasn’t much party food in the cottage. Out of options, Arthur braved the gas stove and managed to put together decent spaghetti that they ate straight out of the pot and washed down with ridiculously pricey red wine because they were classy like that.

For some reason the only watchable thing on TV at this hour was _Alien_ , but Merlin wasn’t complaining. They didn’t talk much, but he couldn’t complain about that, either. The silence was nice. Familiar. Comforting. It’s been way too long since they sat like this, just spending time together – with nothing to discuss, nothing to talk about, no favours to be done or received. 

Somewhere around the discovery of the egg chamber, Merlin found himself with his head pillowed in Arthur’s lap, Arthur’s fingers gently massaging his scalp. Everything was going great, until the alien was bursting out of John Hurt’s chest and the power went off.

Merlin sat up, hitting Arthur’s chin with the top of his head.

‘Ouch!’

Inside there was darkness and silence, but outside the blizzard was a deafening wall of whiteness. The wind was howling; small lumps of ice thundered against the roof, causing a heap of snow to thud down onto the porch, momentarily cutting off what little lighting there was. Merlin looked around, frantically, seeing nothing.

‘I think the power’s down,’ he said.

‘No, really?’ came the sound of Arthur’s voice. Merlin glared, then remembered that Arthur couldn’t see him.

‘You don’t seem fazed,’ Merlin said accusingly.

‘No, I just lost my ability to care. This whole trip has been a spectacular failure; this here is just a minor inconvenience.’

Despite himself, Merlin laughed. He rested his forehead on Arthur’s shoulder and giggled until he was breathless, supporting himself with his hands on Arthur’s chest and silently appreciating, for the first time with the sense of touch as well as sight, his firm pectorals.

Arthur kissed the top of his head.

‘Come on, we should find some candles and get the fire started. You wouldn’t believe how cold it can get without electricity.’

‘You’re ruining the moment,’ said Merlin.

‘I’m being sensible. You should try it sometime.’

‘Nah.’

Someone had the foresight to prepare dry wood and leave it inside, and by means of trial-and-error, Merlin got the fire going, while Arthur strategically placed the candles around the room in a way that was not at all sensible, but looked pretty fetching. He also learned to appreciate gas stoves a lot more, fixing mulled wine for the both of them (lighting fire was not as easy as it seemed, Merlin was slowly discovering).

Moving the couch closer to the fireplace seemed like too much effort, so they brought enough pillows and blankets to construct a pillow fort and had a brief fight about whether building pillow forts was A Thing That Is Acceptable At Their Age. But in the end that, too, seemed like too much effort.

Wine was good. Spicy. Merlin slurped it from a cup, content. He had a blanket wrapped tightly around him and flames were something he would never get tired of looking at. It got very, very cold, as Arthur predicted, but from his spot before the fire, cold seemed like such a faraway concept.

It seemed only natural to curl up next to Arthur and then sneak into his embrace. Arthur held him close, radiating heat like a furnace and occasionally resting his chin on the top of Merlin’s head. 

Merlin cleared his throat.

‘Sorry I ruined your New Year’s,’ he said, wriggling his injured leg. He had a feeling that Arthur had envisioned a passionate tête-à-tête at the mountain top with long speeches and champagne and starry sky, as befitted a Pendragon at his most romantic. 

Arthur shrugged in response. ‘It’s only fair. I ruined your Christmas after all.’

Merlin considered it for a moment. ‘No, you really didn’t,’ he said eventually. ‘I mean, yeah, it sucked—‘

Arthur snorted.

‘And I’m pretty sure I didn’t win myself any points as your prospective boyfriend, did I?’

‘With my father? No. No you didn’t.’

Merlin shrugged and said, ‘But hey, it’s not him that I want to date.’

Above him, Arthur froze, a look of abject horror passing over his face. ‘It had better not be.’

‘Although,’ Merlin said, gleeful, ‘now that I consider it—‘

‘Don’t.’

‘But—‘

‘I’m warning you. That brat and Mr Pantene are bad enough as it is.’

Merlin twisted around to look Arthur squarely in the eye. ‘You’re kind of a prat,’ he announced to the world in general.

‘I am,’ Arthur said, but clearly his attention was elsewhere. He kept staring at Merlin’s lips like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

‘Hmm.’

The firelight made Arthur’s skin glow. The shadows only deepened the strong line of his jaw and his gorgeous cheekbones. Arthur’s mouth was reddened from the wine and Merlin, before he could think it through, leant forward to lick it.

Once he started, he found he couldn’t stop. The silly, kittenish licks gave way to long, unhurried kisses. There was softness there, and heat, and the lingering taste of wine. He climbed up, straddled Arthur’s lap, Arthur’s strong hands supporting his hips. The blanket slid down from his shoulders but it didn’t matter, because Merlin thought he could never be cold again in his life.

Arthur’s hands sneaked under his shirt. Merlin shivered, and pushed forward until he had Arthur sprawled on the floor, oddly unperturbed at being manhandled like that.

Things would be vastly improved by Arthur being naked. He could still remember waking up with his head pillowed on Arthur’s bare chest; the possibility that it might happen again made him dizzy. He traced the outline of Arthur’s muscle through the fabric of his shirt, relishing every shuddered breath and ill-concealed tremor he got in response.

‘Merlin,’ Arthur gasped; and wow, Merlin could feel arousal wash over him at the way Arthur made it sound.

‘Hmm?’ He murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses over the open collar of Arthur’s shirt. The nakedness needed to happen, he thought distractedly, unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt and sliding his mouth progressively lower.

He had seen Arthur shirtless countless times – Arthur seemed to have a sort of exhibitionist streak, probably related to how much time he spent in changing room while practicing approximately every sport ever – but never like this. He ran his hands over the expanse of Arthur’s chest, just to feel his heartbeat and the texture of his skin.

The way Arthur looked at him held him captivated; it may be that he stared a little too long. Arthur growled, impatient, and seized Merlin neck, pulling him down. Kissing him.

‘Wait,’ Merlin said in between kisses, somehow managing to wrestle himself out of his shirt. Arthur eyed him with a mixture of appreciation and apprehension. ‘Does it mean we’re officially dating?’

‘We could be,’ Arthur said smugly.

‘Oh.’

That seemed important, somehow, but not as important as Arthur hooking his fingers in Merlin’s waistbands and tugging down. Merlin bit his lip.

‘Are you going to invite me over to meet your family?’ he asked playfully. 

Arthur groaned and sat up, tumbling them over until he had Merlin pinned firmly to the ground. Merlin hissed when his ankle came in painful contact with the floor, but Arthur kissed away the sounds from his lips, and all the other thoughts of pain and everything that didn’t revolve around Arthur besides.

Having Arthur under him was wonderful; being pressed down under Arthur’s weight was wonderful. Merlin’s brain turned a little mushy while he tried to process too many sensations. 

‘I have so many plans for you,’ Arthur whispered in his ear, his breath moist and heated. ‘So, so many plans—‘

Merlin shivered all over and groped blindly for the zipper on Arthur’s trousers.

‘So—many—‘ Arthur spoke.

Then, from somewhere above them, someone pointedly cleared their throat.

‘We are not disturbing, are we?’

It was Morgana. Her cheeks were red from the cold and there were snowflakes in her hair. She stood smirking in the candlelight, her eyebrows pointedly raised. The others were hovering behind her with mixed expression of amusement and embarrassment.

Arthur stared at her, mouth hanging open like he was a guppy fish.

‘The power went off in the entire village,’ Morgana explained. ‘And they called off the party. So we decided to come back.’

Arthur was slowly starting to shake.

‘We brought fireworks!’ Morgana went on.

Merlin snatched Arthur’s waist to keep him in place, unsure whether he should be mortified, furious or amused. Arthur had clearly made up his mind though and proceeded to describe in a very colourful language exactly where Morgana could stick the fireworks.

***

When midnight struck they braved the weather and got knee-deep in the snow, but the cold and Percival’s stupid snow fighting ideas chased them back to the cottage. Fireworks had to be put off until the snow stopped and the sky cleared – they had their own, belated celebration around 5 A.M. 

They had champagne and wine from the bottomless wine cellar, which they disrespected by drinking straight out of the bottles. Merlin talked and laughed way too much, safe in the knowledge that Arthur was never very far and didn’t seem to want to let Merlin out of his embrace.

Overall, it was a good New Year’s Eve, Merlin concluded when he was falling asleep, Arthur’s arm around his waist and his half-open mouth pressed to Merlin’s ear. Arthur snored and it was a tight squeeze with Morgana and Mordred but they managed. And they were scheduled to stay for a few more days, which Merlin was very glad about.

And if the first thing Arthur did the next day was book a hotel room just for the two of them, well – Merlin was glad about that, too.

THE END


End file.
